


The Cold Never Bothered Me Anyway

by Chess_Blackfyre



Series: A Yellow Rose [9]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:13:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27581855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chess_Blackfyre/pseuds/Chess_Blackfyre
Summary: The youngest Trevelyan has always loved winter.
Relationships: Elsa/Josephine Montilyet, Josephine Montilyet/Female Trevelyan, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: A Yellow Rose [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1795546
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	The Cold Never Bothered Me Anyway

**Author's Note:**

> In honor of the first snowfall of the year, here is Elsa living up to her namesake

Elsa had always loved winter, for as long as it existed to her as a concept. She loved snow; the way it fell from the sky, in harsh flurries or lazy falls. She loved the way she could open her mouth, and with frozen breath, pretend to be a dragon. She loved the thin layer of frost over her windows in the morning. She would leave her bed with its toasty, thick coverlet, and drag her finger across the impromptu drawing board. She loved it, even when her mama would scold her for getting smudges on the glass.

Is it so surprising then, that when that damning show of magic came, it came not with fire, but with ice?

Is it so surprising that, years later, when she awoke with a burning hand and a world on fire, those first steps out into the chill of the Frostback mountains came with a feeling of relief? Elsa breathed deep the cold comfort of mountain air, able to appreciate it once more, if only for a moment.

When the Shades came, and the Seeker fought bravely, but alone—all the former Tranquil had was a staff in reach and a possibility in mind—it was ice that answered Elsa’s call to arms.

Winter had always been Elsa’s friend, and that was why she smiled, even as her hand burned, her face bled, and the Breach scarred the sky.

* * *

It all started with a new staff. 

Elsa didn’t technically need one, really. The one she’d found on the road to the Breach was perfectly functional. But after the wardrobe change and haircut, she wanted to continue riding the ‘making actual decisions for myself again’ high. 

After an afternoon of looking through Harritt’s sketches—the blacksmith was more used to swords than staves, but always willing to try—she returned to find the perfect one waiting for her in her quarters. She was startled to see it 

The staff was crested by a dragon, it’s proud wings raised in flight. Cast in some kind of metal, bronze or something, it had a sturdy wooden base, and ended in a short, but sharp looking staff blade, perfect for slashing at ankles, or stabbing those who got too close. Someone had left it resting against the foot of her cot.

(Across the village, the advisors sat at their shared office. Josephine smiled to herself as she looked over the young Inquisition’s budget. Her mind was wandering back to their Herald, and hoping that her gift wasn’t a presumption on her part. Nearby, Leliana raised an eyebrow, but continued with her own correspondence. Cullen noticed none of this, and thought only of the day’s practice drills.)

As Elsa felt its weight in her hands, appreciating the fine craftsmanship and good balance, she couldn’t wait to use it.

* * *

It was late morning when she finally got the opportunity. Even though as Herald she had no official position in the young Inquisition, the leaders insisted on including her in the decision making process. Perhaps they hoped for her to deliver a little divine inspiration. Although if Andraste had remained silent while an entire mountaintop of people was blown to dust, including the Divine herself, Elsa doubted She’d have much to say about whatever they were mulling over.

Retrieving the staff from her quarters, she set out to find the Seeker. After all, Herald or not, there were too many Templars, and soldiers trained by one blonde Templar in particular, to feel safe about practicing without at least giving someone a heads up. She enjoyed being alive too much.

As she walks through the village, nodding to the merchants and soldiers who greet her with 'Herald'. Even with the brand clear on her face, and a staff in hand, so many people were smiling at her. It was like—like they were happy that she was around.

The thought made her positively giddy. Sister Leliana had mentioned that, how it seems the smallest things always made her so happy. (Or sad. Or angry. Or whatever other confusing THING she was suddenly feeling.) After seven years without, Elsa supposed she was simply out of practice. 

That was when it happened.   
  
She turned a corner, and came face to face with a Templar. For a moment, all Elsa can see is the flaming sword on the breastplate, and feel the sharp, familiar burn ghost across her forehead. 

Elsa wants to run. She wants to scream at them to leave. She wants to let loose with every raw, tangled, infuriating feeling swirling within her chest. She wants—she wants—

She grips her staff so hard it hurts. KEEP IT TOGETHER. 

The Templar--she doesn't know their name--gives her a long look, followed by a sharp “Herald”. Then simply sidestepped her to continue on their way.

It took a long moment for Elsa to breathe again. 

They just—walked around her. Didn’t ask what she was doing or where she was going or anything. They didn’t demand anything from her.

A half-mad chuckle slipped past her lips. Elsa practically slapped her hand over her mouth to stop it. Only crazy people laugh at nothing.

But it WASN’T nothing.

Because—and she didn’t know why she hand’t realized it before—Elsa didn’t answer to the Templars anymore. She didn’t answer to _anyone_.

For the first time since—well, since she could really remember—she was free. 

Elsa laughed, and she broke into a sprint. Not into town, no. She sprinted towards the snow-dappled wilderness that awaited her.

* * *

There were a few common misconceptions about mages and staves. The first being that a staff could be made form any old fancy stick; the second being that, much like any other weapon, a mage could pick a staff at random and use it the same as any other. Both were wrong, obviously.

As a magical focus, the staff would act almost as an extension of her very body. If Elsa wanted to use it, she would have to get used to it. Not to mention, divine favor or no divine favor, Elsa was still years out of practice.

Reaching out, the Veil responded like on old friend. She started with parlor tricks, things to amuse nobles and demonstrate discipline. Little flurries in the palm of her hand, snowflakes appearing and disappearing, drawn from the Fade rather than the elements.

Using the surrounding trees, rocks, and the odd wildlife serving for target practice, Elsa released blasts of ice, lightning, and fire—although the last she’d always had the most trouble with.

With a wave of her hand, any creature could become an ice sculpture. A twirl, and the trees were surrounded, skewered with lances of ice.

Looking out to the frozen lake, Elsa started to ponder a thought. For all the Circle had taught them, they had only taught them enough to control their magic. Certainly nothing that could ever be used to escape. But if here the ice was thick enough to turn a body of water into solid—if slippery—ground, what else could it be formed into?

What else could she create?

What limits did she have, besides her own imagination?

Two hours later, Elsa was standing at the precipice of a cliff. This particular ledge of the mountain ranges was a good fifty feet up. Probably wouldn’t kill her. Probably.

With a laugh, she jumped. With a blast, she caught herself, a spiral slide forming against the side of the cliff. Elsa laughed, giddy as a child sledding down a hill.

* * *

“Have you seen Lady Trevelyan?” Josephine asked, taking a luncheon of cold meat and hot cider. Rather meager fair for someone who’d souped with dukes and princesses, but the Ambassador knew how hard it was to get supplies up to Haven. “I haven’t seen her since this morning.”

“I haven’t seen El—Trevelyan either,” The Commander had found himself unsure of what to actually call the mage these days. ‘Elsa’ had sufficed for the last decade or so, when she had been Orsino’s apprentice and Meredith’s assistant in turn. But now, her first name implied a kind of familiarity that neither of them were comfortable with. Especially considering that the first few days of their new acquaintance, she’d made no secret of her dislike for him as a person. (Not that Cullen could find it in himself to blame her, he didn’t like himself much either these days). As he also didn’t want to touch the theological quandary of actually calling her the ‘Herald of Andraste’, Cullen had stuck with ‘Trevelyan’ for the most part, until something better presented itself.

“I believe she mentioned something about wanting to train,” Leliana pipped in. “She’s likely somewhere out in the training yard.”

Cullen’s brows furrowed. “No, I would have seen her out there.”

“Ah, well. I’m sure she’s somewhere in Haven. Shouldn’t take too long to track her down.”

Half an hour later, the three of them will re-convene, not only having NOT found Elsa Trevelyan, but coming to the realization that they had lost track of the only person in the world who could close the demon-spewing holes in the sky.

As scouts managed to pick up a trail leading up into the mountains, Cassandra cursed their carelessness. Varric, meanwhile, couldn’t help but think of another young mage he’d known with a proclivity for wandering off. 

* * *

At first, they had seen the marks of icy blasts. Then unnatural icicles, moving onto sculpted ice. If Cassandra squinted, they actually looked a bit like some of the centerpieces at one of the many, many parties she’d been dragged to.

“What could she be doing?” Cullen mused aloud. “There were many more expeditious paths if she was running away.”

Solas chuckled. “I would guess at a much simpler explanation: She seems to be playing.”

The three were leading a small contingent of scouts into the mountains 

“Playing?” Her brow furrowed. “That seems…childish.”

“Considering she seems to have been little more than a child when her magic was taken from her, perhaps it’s only natural.” The elven mage reminded.

Cullen fidgeted and looked away. Cassandra made a face, but looked back out to the snowy horizon. “Herald!” She called out for about the fifteenth or twentieth time in the past ten minutes. “Herald, where are you?!”

“Over here!” A breathless voice called out. They raced up over the hill, only to find their errant mage. She was at the top of the hill, surrounded by more frozen creations. Some icy lances had emerged from the ground, surrounding snowmen like a ring of spears. 

“Watch this!” Stomping her foot, a column of ice shot up out of the ground, launching the Herald ten feet into the air. She landed with a thud into a nearby snow drift, laughing all the while.

“What possible tactical advantage could such a thing provide?”

“Don’t know yet,” Elsa smiled, brushing the snow off of her. Cheeks red, but more from exercise than the cold. “But it’s going to be awesome when I figure that out.”

Cassandra glowered. The mage had sent them on a wild chase and could have killed herself with these antics, depriving the Inquisition of both herself, and her ability to close the Rifts, and she was amused. 

“A bigger one of those, and with practice, could be used to launch soldiers over a barricade,” Cullen posited aloud, silenced by the Seeker’s look.

“Anyway, it is time for us to return to Haven.   
It is late, and these mountains are much less hospitable in the dark.” She looked the mage up and down for sign of serious injury, exhaustion, or anything else that would slow down the journey. She found none.

“You’re not…cold?” The Seeker asked. Beneath her own plate armor were layers to protect against the elements. The mage wasn’t wearing so much as a winter cloak. 

Elsa just smiled. “No. The cold and I are old friends.”

**Author's Note:**

> So...this kind of spiraled out into this whole big thing.
> 
> For those curious, Elsa specializes in Winter magic and will chose the Knight-Enchanter specialization. The staff mentioned is the one is the un-creatively named Staff of the Dragon that's found in starting DLC. As it's never actually explained in-story where those kinds of weapons came from, it gave me some room to play.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
